Judgment of the Elders Page 2

  Her actions worried me. She clearly was capable of reacting instinctively under pressure. That made her a loose cannon and her presence on the scene complicated things immensely.

  ##

  The hallmark of Clan Willowwalk, aside from an encyclopedic knowledge of deciduous trees, is their direct approach to life. Caswel Esmar exemplified that philosophy. If he was curious about a topic, he would ask questions. If he formed an opinion, you’d hear about it. Polite conversation was not one of his priorities. As a result, he was a very bad liar most of the time. Still, he had remarkable luck forming short relationships with human women over the course of twenty years visiting the Mortal Realm. The secret was all in the approach and selecting the target.

  Cass always posed as either a foreign visitor or country bumpkin. His impolitic way of speaking marked him as unfamiliar with urban American life. Although it repelled many people, a handful of individuals chose to “mother” him. Seeing a handsome man who needed lots of guidance, these women took him in, fed him, served as his tour guide, and gave him a place to stay. This worked well as long as he spent a bit of money on them and vanished after a few days.

  In the guise of Cassandra Forest, he presumed he could do the same thing. He would use the Canadian immigrant story as an excuse to make open observations about his environment and cover any ignorance regarding local customs. He realized human teenagers were rarely described as nurturing, but that was all right with him. He wasn’t looking for acceptance.

  Cass arrived at school with a backpack full of notebooks, writing implements, measuring devices, and a salad for lunch. Tucked away in the front zipped pocket was his secret weapon… The List. He’d compiled The List in the days between sentencing and exile and it contained all the sources of adolescent angst imaginable, at least those imaginable by an Alfaran. It was Cass’s intention to frontload his human existence with misery so the Elders would appreciate the magnitude of their punishment. The Elders were stoic, but fair-minded and he was hoping a presentation of extreme hardship would result in early parole.

  The List began with Gender Identity Confusion; easy given his situation. Number two was Seeking Autonomy from Parental Authority. This also seemed simple given the particular jailers he’d been saddled with. Opposing Jamil was second nature to Cass. Three and four were Self-Esteem Issues and Body Image Problems. Given his natural self-confidence and the fact that his new female body was reasonably cute, Cass wasn’t sure how to achieve these two objectives. Poor body image required some feature to fret over, and he couldn’t identify one. He knew he could not simply pretend he was unhappy. The Elders were too perceptive for that. He needed to throw himself in front of the metaphorical train and let the pain of human adolescence crash into him. He smiled at his cleverness, which was probably a bad start.

  Meeting Mr. Gunderson caused him to put thoughts of his plan aside for a few minutes. The vice principal was obviously looking for the new transfer student when Cass walked into the building.

  Mr. Gunderson greeted him. “You must be Cassandra Forest, our newest student. Welcome to OLAM, and welcome to America. Congratulations on moving to the best little town near the best big city in the Empire State.”

  Mr. Gunderson seemed extremely confident of his statement, so Cass opted to agree.

  “I’m sure it is, sir.”

  “Darn right you are. Let’s not forget it. We’ve got your schedule, student handbook, and locker number in the main office. Please follow me.”

  Watching the retreating back of Mr. Gunderson, Cass pondered why the man seemed intimidating. Gunderson was only about five-foot-eight with a crew cut, dark blue blazer and khaki slacks; an outfit well suited to any middle manager. Cass couldn’t figure out how, only moments before, the man made him feel so unnerved. Then the vice principal swung around again and Cass spotted the difference. It was the steely-grey eyes.

  “You weren’t raised by Canadian hippies, were you?”

  Puzzled, Cass said “I’ve never even met a Canadian hippie, sir.”

  “Canada is crawling with them. They all fled the States during Viet Nam.”

  Cass pondered that statement trying to remember exactly when the South East Asian conflict happened. “Wouldn’t those people all be old, sir?”

  “Hey… I served in Viet Nam.”

  Charming Mr. Gunderson was nowhere near as easy as Cass had imagined. “That was very… patriotic… of you, sir.”

  “Darn right. Let’s not forget that.”

  Cass was relieved to find a young nun waiting in the front office as Mr. Gunderson passed the responsibility of orientation to someone less intimidating.

  “Cassandra Forest, meet Sister Patrice, the school guidance counselor. If you’re called to the office to see her, you might be okay. If you’re called here to see me, you are in deep trouble. Sister, I’ll leave our transfer student in your capable hands.” Gunderson entered his office and closed the door. Sister Patrice invited Cass into a corner sectioned off by a corkboard wall. He sat down opposite the counselor at a small table.

  Sister Patrice offered a wan smile. “The vice principal isn’t this gruff all the time. I suspect he gets too much caffeine with breakfast, because he mellows out after lunch. But let me get to know you better. I understand you’re from Canada.”

  “That’s right, ma’am.”

  “The proper address is Sister, for future reference. My mother is from Toronto. Is your family from near there?”

  Cass froze for a second. The Canada ruse assumed no one would know anything about Canada. He tried to remember everything Magolyn told him at breakfast. Toronto wasn’t part of that briefing.

  “We’re from the Northwest Territories, Sister; the town of Yellowknife on Slave Lake. That’s not near Toronto… right?”

  “Um, no, it isn’t. It’s part of the rural Northwest. But I guess you know that. Well, don’t let Long Island intimidate you. The faculty and students want you to feel part of OLAM. No one is an outsider or outcast here. We work at being inclusive.”

  Cass found that disappointing news. Feeling Like an Outsider was number eleven on The List. This friendly acceptance put a kink in his plans for overwhelming misery early in his exile. Cass considered cultivating a prickly personality, but wasn’t quite sure how not to be charming and outgoing.

  Sister Patrice went through a short orientation talk and then, in a whisper, she said “Do you think you could wear a more subdued bra tomorrow?”

  Cass smiled. “Can you put that in writing for me?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sister Patrice provided Cass with a student identification card, handbook, schedule, and combination lock with a locker number attached. He went off in search of the locker and homeroom. Stopping at number 601, he noticed a lock already secured there. Needing someone to question, Cass spotted a very pleasant-looking young man with light brown hair and blue eyes strolling down the hall, so he called out.

  “Excuse me attractive boy, but I think someone else has taken my locker.”

  “Are you talking to me?” the male student said, approaching another locker and twiddling the dial.

  “Yes I am. I’m guessing by the casual certainty of your walk and the tiny bit of stubble on your chin that you’re an older student very familiar with how things work here. Can you help me gain access to my locker?”

  “You must either be a freshman or a transfer student; clueless but very cute.”

  “Thank you… I think. Can you tell me who took my locker?”

  “That’s Amanda Lipton’s locker. All these lockers are for seniors. We just established that you’re not a senior, so that can’t be your locker. Let me see your lock.”

  Cass handed over the bulky piece of metal and the boy examined the tag. “Your locker is 109. You were looking at it upside-down. That’s a classic freshman mistake. Lowly underclassman lockers are way over there.” The boy pointed down the hall.

  Cass initially bristled at the young man’s casual put-downs, but q
uickly realized that this was exactly the type of response he’d expected from other students. Sister Patrice was wrong about inclusiveness. The List was going to work after all.

  He hung his head and hunched his shoulders before responding. “Oh, I see. You’re right. I was just stupid. I’ve always gotten lost easily, even at my former, smaller school. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  Peter was puzzled for a second time. First this new girl came on like a steamroller and now she collapsed like a house of cards. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been evil to you on your first day.”

  Cass straightened up. “Please don’t apologize.”

  “You were so blunt at first that you caught me off guard. My name is Peter Goodkin. What’s yours?”

  “Cassandra Forest, now go back to being mean.”

  “I’m not all that mean, really. I hope you have a great day.”

  Cass turned and stalked off. “Oh, for the love of brambleberry bushes. This isn’t going well at all.”

  Thus, the mean senior became the apologetic senior. Cass felt cursed with adorableness. Hiding his charm under a bushel basket was harder than he’d anticipated. He feared he was doomed to be popular.

  Still, he managed progress on the gender confusion front. Cass objectively assessed that Peter had nice features and had perfected a swagger often attempted, but rarely mastered, by other adolescent boys. However, the new body had responded… let’s call it positively, to Peter’s presence. So the man in him was appreciative, but envious. The girl in him was interested. He thought he might get a broken heart out of this chance meeting after all.

  ##

  Sister Regina gave Cass a tiny smile as he took a seat in homeroom. He reasoned the presiding nun must count as an Elder among humans, as she looked wise, stern and ancient in Mortal terms.

  “Class, we welcome a new member to the OLAM family today. Cassandra, would you please introduce yourself?”

  Cass looked around at the twenty-or-so faces now focused on him with varying degrees of interest. Roughly half his new classmates had pale or slightly rosy complexions like his own. The rest ranged from the color of extra virgin olive oil to milk chocolate. Both hair color and hair styles were highly variable from student to student. There were more girls than boys. Each one was dressed in a uniform appropriate to their gender.

  “Um, hello. I’m Cassandra Forest. Thank you.”

  “Please stand up dear and give us a little background. Nobody here bites.”

  Cass stepped up to the blackboard facing the largely indifferent adolescents before him. He unconsciously smoothed his skirt down and repositioned his hands repeatedly until settling on clasping them behind him. He ignored the cold trickle of perspiration crawling down his back.

  His nervousness did not stem from speaking before his new classmates. He was more a person of action than words, but he was capable of public speaking. No, his tension stemmed from the realization that he was about to start his self-sabotage in earnest. He needed to maximize alienation from these teens in order to ensure a miserable high school experience that would inspire pity from the Elders.

  “Hello again. I’m Cassandra. My family just moved here from a little town in Western Canada. It’s called Yellowknife. You’re all sophisticated city kids, so Yellowknife would seem boring to you. You probably think I’m boring. My mom is boring. She’s old, but she’s taking college classes anyway. My dad is an Internet blogger, which isn’t a real job like your parents have. My grandfather made money in gold mining, so we can afford to live here and pay the tuition at this school. You all pay the tuition, so you must be rich. But I’m small town rich and you’re all big city rich. So I hope you won’t spit on me or anything.” He turned to Sister Regina. “May I sit down now?”

  “That would be good, Cassandra. You’re probably done.” The nun scribbled a few notes in her grade book. This Canadian girl was an odd duck, but not the strangest child Sister Regina had ever taught.

  ##

  Confident that Cass would survive his first day of high school, I decided to see what mischief Esmeralda was into.

  After leaving the company of the unconscious charitable church lady, Esme reviewed the various obstacles she faced in achieving revenge on her ex-boyfriend. Finding him was not a major problem. As an air mage, she was quite competent with divination and had her scrying crystal with her. Cass, now a human, would be less likely to sense a seeking charm than when he was Alfaran.

  Her gazing crystal of choice was a four-inch diameter clear quartz sphere that was fairly portable. My sodalite ball is enchanted to allow for telepathy. The bluish stone is particularly sensitive to various psychic emanations and is more responsive than quartz. Always use sodalite.

  Esme realized that travel was problematic. She had affinity with hawks and could take avian form, but transporting her clothing and equipment was an issue. She needed a base of operations where she could store her things before flying over the countryside looking for Cass.

  That brought her to the biggest obstacle: money. Humans, as she understood things, were all about money. They no longer bartered goods or services. If you wanted something from them you had to pay them… or temporarily deprive them of air. That ploy, however, would get noticed if she used it too often. She needed access to some cash.

  She wore earrings and a bracelet that dangled tiny needles of gold and silver. Ironically, these were a gift from Caswel that she now intended to convert to local currency. She was unfamiliar with the concept of pawn shops, but hoped jewelers might purchase the set for resale.

  Prior to finding any open stores, Esmeralda discovered the time honored urban survival tactic of dumpster diving. She found a lightweight cotton dress and colorful shawl cast off in someone’s garbage, adding to her meager wardrobe. Granted the shawl was torn and the dress had frayed sleeves and a small yellow stain on the hem, but they would still cover her and fend off the cold.

  She wandered into a small coffee shop and seated herself at the counter. The place was crowded. A small group of men in blue denim shirts attacked plates of eggs, potatoes, and bacon. Men and women in suits collected coffee and rolls to go. A middle-aged woman wearing a paper hat and apron walked over, laying out a set of utensils in front of Esme. “What can I get for you this morning?”

  “I noticed your sign in the window.”

  “The Help Wanted sign?” The woman gave Esme the once over noting her ill-fitting clothes and leather satchel. “You got any waitressing experience?”

  Esmeralda was confused. “No I don’t. I’m an oracle but that’s not relevant. I would like to acquire a sign like that one for myself. Might I ask where you got it?”

  “Benson’s Hardware, two blocks down on Oak Street. What kind of help are you hiring?”

  “I’m not hiring anyone. I just need a lot of help and thought an eye catching sign might be a way to obtain it.”

  The waitress scowled. “Do you want breakfast or not.”

  “Will you take an earring in trade?”

  “Get out!”

  Esme expected humans to exhibit barbarism and she was not so hungry that flattering the waitress was a priority. Therefore, she departed without another word, but was hailed by a young man who followed her out of the establishment. He was clad in a dark blue turtleneck and black jeans. He had short, chestnut-brown hair.

  “Excuse me Miss, but you seemed a little lost in there. You said you were an oracle. My name is Lucas and I have contacts in the fortune-telling trade. If you need some help… ”

  “You know people who do divinations?”

  “I run a supply shop for New Age paraphernalia, so I have customers who buy tarot cards, rune stones, and dowsing rods.”

  Esmeralda’s eyes lit up. “Is there money in this trade?”

  Lucas smiled at her. “Well, not a lot. We don’t need sales help at the shop, but we are looking for someone to do card readings a couple evenings a week. How does that sound?”

  Esme considered t
he possibilities. This would give her a location to keep her things. It would also give her a source of magical equipment and ingredients. That presumed this human knew something about real magic and wasn’t just selling gimmicks and snake oil.

  “I usually do divination with a crystal, but I am very accurate. Will I be able to ask your customers for coin?”

  Lucas paused before responding. A focus on the financial was often the sign of a scam artist, but he considered her ragged appearance and reasoned she went hungry often. There was no crime in making enough money to eat.

  “New York is funny about fortune-telling.” he said. “You can’t claim to see the future, but you can charge for the amusement value. Just call it entertainment and asking for money is legal. The owner will probably want you to keep the price low however.”

  “It seems to me your law encourages tricksters to prosper and genuine oracles to starve.”

  Lucas laughed. “The State doesn’t believe in genuine oracles, but my customers do.” He produced a business card and told her to stop by that evening for a trial run.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I could see she was comfortable in the corner seat affording a lovely view of a blank wall. Joan Richards was her name. Her thoughts were completely introspective, ignoring the buzz of conversation from other tables. She’d occupied this cafeteria chair every school day since entering OLAM as a freshman. Her promotion to sophomore changed nothing about its desirability. She didn’t want other girls babbling at her, slack-jawed boys staring at her, or teachers inquiring about her state of mind. Solitude was perfect. Isolation was good.

  Then Cass sat down next to her.

  “Hi, I’m Cassandra Forest. I introduced myself in homeroom yesterday. I don’t know if you remember.”

  Joan narrowed her eyes menacingly. “You were memorable.”

  “Well… good. I checked with Sister Regina and she says your name is Joan Richards.”

  “Why were you asking about me?”